


Nothing Of The Sort

by Miniatures



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 23:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4156830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miniatures/pseuds/Miniatures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle isn't trying to make Rumple feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Of The Sort

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a one-sentence prompt from Tumblr—"Stop trying to cheer me up."

Belle found the room early on, the room full of the boy’s clothes. Threadbare and mouldering and clearly made by and for peasant stock. Nothing like the elaborate outfits Rumpelstiltskin always wore.

She meant to ask about them the next time she caught Rumple in a decent mood. But then she found the room again, and this time it wasn’t empty.

Rumpelstiltskin sat on the floor, clutching an old tunic to his chest and sobbing. Belle froze in the doorway. The imp was _convulsing_ , his expression a contortion of bitterness and pain, and oh, how it tugged at her heart to see it. She decided it was too private a moment, and took a step back. But the floors creaked, and then those _eyes_ were on her and she froze again.

A part of Belle half-expected Rumpelstiltskin to scream at her. To rage and throw things and curse her into a smear on the wall. But that part of her was growing smaller by the day, and now, as she stared at the Dark One sitting prone on the floor with a child’s tunic in his hands, it was nearly vanished. She turned on her heel and left.

She didn’t see Rumple again for several hours. He slunk around her for the rest of the day, refusing to so much as look her in the eye. But then he adjourned to his tower, and Belle went on the offensive.

“Stop,” he said, the moment she arrived at the top of the stairs. “Don’t even think about it, dearie.”

“Think about what?” Belle asked innocently, ignoring his order and bringing her tray of offerings to set on the table before him. “I’m just bringing you your evening tea. And sweet pastries.”

“ _My_ evening tea and sweet pastries?” Rumple’s voice lilted almost musically in his sarcasm. “You mean the ones I never asked for and never wanted? Stop,” he said again, jabbing a finger in Belle’s general direction, “trying to cheer me up.”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort,” Belle said primly. “You’re putting words in my mouth. Eat your pastries.”

“I’m wise to your tricks, girl,” he said, picking up a pastry. “You won’t get on my good side that easily. I’m a hard-won man.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“I,” he took a bite of the pastry, “will not be _pitied_. If there’s one thing I neither care for nor require, it’s pity.”

“Of course.”

“Go away.”

“I will.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Goodnight.”


End file.
